Hell And Silence
by ohmycroft
Summary: Mycroft Holmes isn't lonely. Or at least he wouldn't admit it to his annoying little brother, that continuously teases him with his happy relationship with John. But when Mycroft meets someone different, or perhaps perfectly ordinary, he must rethink his entire life.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft sat alone in his office, as usual. There was a lot of work to be done, and he was happy that for once there was nothing to distract him from it.

So that was obviously the exact moment when his phone rang.

As he saw his brother's name on the screen, he rolled his eyes, but answered anyway.

"_Hello, brother dear_." his brother's voice said with a smile.

"What is it, Sherlock?" he was in no mood for a small chat.

"_John and I wanted to invite you over to our flat for dinner._"

"_Yes, and Sherlock is cooking."_ John interrupted on the other side.

"_What? I'm not cooking!_" Sherlock laughed, and John joined his laughter.

Ever since they became a couple, they were almost completely inseparable. They were always together, as if they're happily stuck to each other. It made Mycroft very uncomfortable sometimes, but if it meant his brother was happy, he let them continue acting that way.

He cleared his throat loudly to remind them he's still there.

"_Sorry about that, John is a bit delusional –"_

_"I'm not delusional!"_

_"Yes, you are! Anyway, come over at seven, alright?"_

Mycroft sighed desperately. He'd rather stay in his office and work, but of course he'll come. The only positive thing about his brother's new love life (one of the positive things) was that John encouraged him to be nice to him. Because as hard as he tried to be estranged to his brother, in order to not be distracted from his work, he did care about him. Of course he did. He's the only one he's got.

"Yes, Sherlock, I'll come."

"_We'll see you then_." he always referred to himself as 'we'.

"You will."

Mycroft hanged up.


	2. Chapter 2

It was six pm when Mycroft looked at his watch.

One hour left before he'll have to go.

He took a deep breath, but just as he did, there was a knock on his door.

"Mr. Holmes?" asked Anthea before entering.

"Yes, come in."

She entered quietly.

"Sir, there's someone here for you. Her name is Emma Carlton. She works in America, but she visits England annually, and she made a deal with someone that volunteers someone that works for the British government here to host her for her visit, or something like that."

"A _deal_? A deal with whom, if I may know?"

She looked at him meaningfully.

"That sort of deal has to be done with someone very powerful and influencing. Who do you think has enough power to do that?"

Mycroft sighed.

"And what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, it's your turn to host her."

"Alright, send her in."

Anthea left, and seconds after another woman entered, one Mycroft had never seen before.

He got up and shook her hand. She smiled lightly. He gestured towards the chair in front of him, and she sat on it. He sat back on his large chair.

"I like that assistance of yours. She's nice. Regardless to the fact she described me as if I'm some sort of bacteria that's going to make you sick."

Her accent was American, but there were clear hints to a northern accent as well.

"Then how about you'll introduce yourself in a more proper way?"

"Seems fair. Alright then, my name is Emma, as you already know. I work for the American government, which is also why I live there. But I was born and raised in England, so I make sure to pay a visit every year. But since I don't have any family here, and staying alone at a hotel is simply boring, I made an arrangement – every year, someone else that works for the British government will be my 'host', and in return, I'll make sure America works in a way that'll support Britain's interests."

It did sound better when she explained it.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Go ahead."

"When I was here last year, there was someone else occupying this office. A woman, I think. What happened to her?"

Mycroft's expression became serious.

"Car crash."

The code to – killed under work circumstances.

"Oh."

They were both quiet again.

"So, what am I to do as your… 'host'?"

She giggled.

"Well, my annual victim usually introduces me to his friends and family, helps me to get to know interesting people and mostly keeps me from being bored."

Mycroft laughed.

"Luckily to you, I was invited to dinner tonight. I'm not so sure you'd like to join me, though."

"And why is that?"

"My brother is a bit… _unusual_, you may say."

"Unusual is good. Unusual means interesting."

He laughed again.

"Well, I can guarantee one thing."

"What is it?"

"This will be the most unique dinner you'll ever have."

"Challenge accepted."

Mycroft looked at her thoughtfully.

"What?"

"You're a rather regular woman. What made you work in such a job, in a different country?"

"Guess I'm not that regular."

Mycroft opened his mouth in order to expose everything he has managed to deduce about her, but then he thought of the dinner expecting them and he closed his mouth.

She's going to hear enough deductions for a week in 35 minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

As Sherlock heard the knock, he paced quickly towards the door and opened it. Being with John was rather the best thing that happened to him, but it made him somewhat irrational quite frequently. For instance, when he invited his brother to dinner.

Being around John was enough. He didn't need the company of anyone else.

Moreover, he didn't want it.

Sherlock opened the door with a bored expression, but his eyes lit up when he noticed his brother wasn't alone.

"Hello, brother." Mycroft said and faked a smile.

"Mycroft. Got yourself a goldfish, then?" he said at the two entered the flat.

"I'm starting to see what you were referring to." she said as she looked around the flat.

"Not too late to change your mind about this." if she won't want to be here, he will be excused as well.

"That's a skull." she said in bewilderment and pointed at it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John entered the room.

"Hello, Mycroft." he said, and then paused as he saw his companion.

"Changed your mind yet?" he asked her again.

"Not at all. Finally someone interesting."

Mycroft moaned. There goes his ticket out of this.

"Emma Carlton." she said, and presented her hand for a shake.

As Sherlock was too busy making deduction about her, John prevented the awkward situation and stepped forward quickly to shake her hand.

"John. John Watson."

She smiled at him. She looked at Sherlock, waiting for him to introduce himself as well. Once again, John stepped in to prevent an embarrassing situation.

"That's Sherlock. He's a bit…"

"Of a sociopath. Yes, I know. Mycroft warned me." she said, but her smile didn't fade away.

"Is that all he said about him?"

"Well, he also warned me about him… showing off, or something."

John laughed.

"I'm not showing off, I just say the obvious that others don't bother to think enough in order to see." Sherlock said rapidly, at last.

She looked at him provokingly.

"And what is it that you bothered enough to see about _me_?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"There we go." he muttered.

"I know you're 36 years old, born and raised in England but work in America, for the government I assume. You have an older brother, which lives in America as well, with his doctor wife and their child, a rather playful boy. I know that my brother rudely didn't give you anything to drink when you came to his office, so you must be thirsty. Would you like some tea?"

She stared at him, clearly startled. Then, she laughed.

"That, was remarkable."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He hated ordinary people. But he did like having someone new to impress.

Besides, a woman that isn't afraid a single bit from a man that keeps a skull in his flat must be at least a bit abnormal.

"Anyway, he's absolutely right. Should we eat?"


	4. Chapter 4

The four of them sat around the table, eating pasta claimed to have been cooked by Sherlock.

"So, what's the connection between you two?" John asked at last.

Sherlock smiled at his question. Being near him all the time had made John a little tactless, and Sherlock liked it.

"Just collies." Mycroft said with his fake smile.

"Well, that's what they said about Sherlock and I at first too, and look where we are now."

Sherlock and Emma laughed. Mycroft wasn't amused.

"Alright, so he's a sociopath –"

"A highly functioning one."

"A highly functioning sociopath, sorry. What's your excuse?"

The men were all surprised by her question, especially the one that was being asked.

"I'm his brother." Mycroft said as lightly as possible.

Emma raised her eyebrows and looked back at her meal, and they continued eating in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Emma became a bit embarrassed after a while. Perhaps that question was a bit inappropriate, but she felt like he's being too estranged to his brother. He kept looking at him as if he's better than him, and she hated that.

But she was still embarrassed, so she scanned the room with her eyes, to find something that might lighten the atmosphere.

She noticed the violin.

"Which one of you plays the violin?" she asked.

"I do."

"May I?"

Sherlock nodded.

She got up and walked towards it. She picked it up, and started playing. She hadn't played in for a long while, and she missed it. When she was at work she was always too busy to practice.

The men were all surprised by her playing.

When she finished, John clapped his hands, and the brothers reluctantly joined him. She smiled at them.

Sherlock suddenly frowned.

"John, can you come help me with dessert?"

"Sure."

The couple went to the kitchen, as Emma put the violin back to its place and sat back down next to Mycroft.

"She's hiding something." Sherlock whispered once they were out of sight.

"Of course she is. Everyone has secrets."

"No, that's not what I meant. She's hiding something dangerous, and it has to do with Mycroft."

"What? How do you know?" John whispered in concern.

"Her expression, her smile, remain exactly the same when she looks at us, but change slightly every time she looks at Mycroft. It's called micro-expressions – she can't control them, and most people don't see them, but they reveal a person's true feelings."

"What are her true feelings, then?"

"Anger."

John frowned.

"Is everything alright?" Mycroft suddenly said, and as Sherlock turned around he noticed his brother was standing right behind him.

He clearly hadn't heard any of their conversation, for if he had, he would have asked Sherlock for more information.

"Yes, of course it is. We were just…" John tried to explain, but didn't have any idea for a reasonable excuse.

"I didn't like the fact that he clapped his hands after hearing her play, since he never does the same thing for me, but he said he was only being polite, and that perhaps I should try it too." Sherlock filled in immediately.

"Oh. Then can you have your little arguments _after_ we've left?"

"Of course, sorry about that." Sherlock said and smiled.

His older brother rolled his eyes and sat back next to Emma, which seemed curious about their discussion.

"Did it really bother you?"

"What? No, of course not." Sherlock lied.

"Well, let's get dessert before your brother comes investigating again."


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock and John woke up to the sound of a ringing phone. John got up, moaning, to check who's calling. But of course, it was Sherlock's phone ringing. He went back to bed, and closed his eyes again. Just as Sherlock's phone stopped ringing, his phone started instead.

"Why don't you ever get up to answer your phone?" John muttered to his boyfriend, as he got up again and answered.

"Hello?" he asked croakily.

"_Hello, John. Did I wake you?_"

John rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mycroft, you did. What is it?"

"_Emma says she forgot her purse at your flat last night. Would you check if it's there?_"

"Sure." he mumbled, and reluctantly went to the living room.

On the chair she sat on last night, laid a small black purse.

"Found it."

"_Good. I'll come over to pick it up later today._"

"Try and not wake me up next time."

John hanged up.

He walked slowly to his bedroom again, and crashed on the bed next to Sherlock.

"What did he want?" Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes. Of course he was awake.

"Emma left her purse behind. He asked me to find it and keep it until he'll come to pick it up."

Sherlock dashed out of bed.

"What?" John moaned.

"Her secret, John. The answer must be in her purse."

"Well, you have fun playing detective. I'm going back to bed."

After a minute of lying there alone, he reluctantly got up and followed his boyfriend. He couldn't stay in bed and let him inquire on his own.

He walked to the living room, and went over to Sherlock, that searched through the black purse. Suddenly, his searches stopped.

"What did you find?"

Sherlock pulled a small corked test tube, with an unknown powder.

"What is it?"

"I don't know."


	7. Chapter 7

Molly looked at Sherlock curiously, as he examined the unknown powder under a microscope. John rubbed his eyes. He was curious as well, but he'd rather sleep.

Sherlock straightened up, staring at the air.

"Oh." he said in comprehension.

"What is it?" Molly asked, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Conium."

"Mind to explain?" John asked impatiently.

"One of the most toxic plants of all. Ingestion of 8 leaves of it is fatal. Death comes in the form of paralysis – Your mind is wide awake, but your body doesn't respond and eventually the respiratory system shuts down."

Both John and Molly were shocked by his words. Only Molly didn't know the consequences these results have.

"Call Mycroft."


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft and Emma sat quietly in front of each other in his office. Her presence was a bit of a nuisance to him. Not because of anything personal, but simply because she was presence. He liked being alone.

But his brother was wrong – he wasn't lonely. He just enjoyed his isolation.

"You have a treadmill in your office."

"I do."

"Any particular reason?"

"Why could I possibly have a treadmill for?"

They were both silent again. After that dinner, Emma thought that perhaps she ran into one of the most interesting people she ever got to know in her trips to England, but now she felt as if she was deceived.

The door opened, and the detective and the doctor entered without knocking.

"We brought the purse." Sherlock said, looking at Emma.

"Thank you. Sorry you had to bother." she said apologetically.

She got up and tried to take the purse, but Sherlock snatched it out of her hand before she managed to.

She looked at him confused, but her eyes reflected fear.

"Sherlock, stop acting like a child. Give it to her." Mycroft called from behind.

"You had no right to look in it." she said coldly.

Her expression was completely different, now that she realized what was happening. It seemed as if she removed a mask she put on before, and her true thoughts were now revealed.

"You shouldn't have left it behind, then."

"People make mistakes."

"What mistake did my brother make to make you try to poison him?"

Mycroft was startled by his brother. He wished that in any moment, she would burst out at him and blame him for making false accusations about her.

But she didn't. Instead, she sat back down.

"You get to know all sorts of people while working abroad. One of the people I met is Ian Thompson. He has a large weapon company. It's called T. , you can look it up if you don't believe me. When I told him I'm going to have you for company, he was terrified. The sound of your name made him shiver. He told me about everything you did – the number of people you used your job to kill, the blood you have on your hands – and he asked me to poison you, to make you stop. He said that you're looking for him, and that if I won't do it, you'll kill him!" she shouted at him with hatred.

There was genuine hatred in her eyes, and clear shock and confusion in the men's eyes. Neither of them understood what she was talking about.

All but Sherlock. Something about her story sounded strange, even familiar.

"What's the name of his company?"

"You don't believe me?"

"What is it?" he urged her.

"T. ."

Sherlock thought of the name. There was something awfully familiar about it, but he couldn't understand what it was. He tried to rearrange the letters, and that was when he realized what's wrong about the story.

"Oh."

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"It's an anagram."

"What is?"

"Oh, he's so arrogant. Always thinks he's uncatchable. If he wasn't showing off, perhaps he would have remained anonymous."

"What are you talking about? Who's showing off?" John asked nervously.

"Moriarty." Sherlock whispered.

"Moriarty?" Mycroft half-shouted in surprise. "He's dead."

"And so was I, until I wasn't anymore. Death isn't permanent, as you can see."

"What are you talking about? Who's this Moriarty?" Emma interrupted.

Sherlock walked to Mycroft's computer and typed something. He turned the screen to Emma, and pressed 'play'.

"_After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty -"_

"What is this? Why is there a picture of Ian there?" she asked, baffled, and pointed at Moriarty's picture on the screen.

"It's an article. Ian Thompson is actually Jim Moriarty, a criminal we thought that was dead –"

"No, you're lying. You made it all up."

"We didn't, Emma. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. This man is actually a criminal, and he tried to use you to kill me." Mycroft said softly. Unlike Sherlock, he understood her distress.

"Please tell me you're lying." she begged him with a look full of shame and betrayal.

"I'm sorry."

She put her head on her hands.

"So, the man I considered to be my best friend, is actually a criminal mastermind that faked his death and tried to use me in order to have you dead?"

"Basically." Sherlock said insensitively.

John looked at him with rebuke.

The woman took a deep breath and looked up to the computer screen.

"Then I –" she started saying.

But then, she screamed.

The men hurried to the computer.

The screen was now black, and white letters were being typed on it.

_You should have killed him._

_My target is now different._

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it. It was the only thing she heard, and the other men were silent. Neither of them knew what to do next.

"Don't worry, nothing's going to hurt you. We'll make sure of that." the doctor said at last.

"I'll have body guards assigned to you, and I'll personally –"

"Can you leave us alone, please? Some things are ought to be said in private." she asked the couple with a trembling voice.

"Of course. Let's go, Sherlock." he said quietly, and the left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

"Emma, you'll be just fine –"

"I wanted to apologize. For the obvious reasons."

"It's alright."

"No, it isn't." she said more loudly. "I tried to poison you, over lies I've heard about you. I let myself be fooled, and it almost made me kill you."

"It's not your fault. It's not the first time he fakes an identity, or fools people into getting them to do whatever he wants them to do."

"I'm not people. It's not like me, killing off someone like that. But you must understand the way he influenced me –" she was begging him, and her eyes were filled with tears. It was only now that she realized what she was about to do.

"Emma, it really is alright. I know it's not like you." he got up from his chair and kneeled beside her. He wasn't sure why he did it, but he felt like it would comfort her somehow.

"How do you know that?" she asked with a trembling voice, and let a single tear slide down her cheek.

"My brother isn't the only one who's good at reading people. I learned a lot about you yesterday – I learned that you're sensitive, kind, clever, beautiful…" his voice faded away as he noticed he got carried away.

She smiled shyly.

"I got a bit carried away, didn't I?" he asked and frowned.

She shook her head.

She smiled a bit. He liked her smile.

"Not at all."


	10. Chapter 10

Emma was walking down Baker Street, alone. Mycroft tried to make her take her body guard with her, but she insisted on going alone. If Ian, Moriarty, whoever he is, could hack into Mycroft's computer, he could easily take down two body guards. And she didn't want to hurt anyone else anymore.

She didn't take a cab, since Mycroft persuaded her that the cabbie might kidnap her. She thought it was highly unlikely, but as Mycroft asked her to not do so, she didn't.

She looked around at the people in the street. It felt awfully empty to her.

She noticed a man on the opposite side of the road. He was wearing all black clothes, but not in an unusual way. What disturbed her the most was that we was staring at her. He wasn't simply looking around - his eyes were fixed on her.

She slowed down, her eyes on the strange man.

He moved a bit, and she saw a small black object pulled out of his coat. Just as she realized what it is, there was a large noise and the man ran away.

Less than a second later, she felt a sharp pain in the left side of her body. She put her hand on it, and then removed it and looked at her hand.

It was red with blood.

Emma, panicked, put both of her hands on the wound, and walked as quickly as she could towards her destination.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock was sitting in the living room, thrilled. On the coffee table in front of him laid all of the towels they had.

He couldn't wait until John would finish his shower and notice there aren't any towels in the room.

As he waited, he could hear footsteps climbing the stairs. But there was something peculiar about the sounds of them. It was heavy, as if the person making them barely manages to walk.

He got up and opened the door. When he saw Emma's face, and the expression on them, he was surprised, but as his gaze lowered towards her stomach, his eyes widened.

He left the door wide opened behind him, and spread two clean towels on the sofa. Emma understood the hint, and laid on them.

Sherlock walked quickly towards the bathroom, with a towel in his hands.

Emma started feeling tired, but she struggled to keep her eyes open. She listened to Sherlock in order to distract herself from the pain.

Sherlock opened the bathroom door wide open.

"_Sherlock_!" John yelled at him in surprise.

"Dress up, I need your help."

"What's so urgent?"

"It's Emma. She got shot."

When he came back to the room, he didn't have a towel in his hands. Probably gave it to John.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialed a number quickly.

"Mycroft, come here quickly. It's Emma."

He hanged up.

Her eyelids became heavier.

_Just for one moment_, she thought as she closed her eyes.

"No, wait. Hey, Emma, stay with me."

She opened her eyes, and she saw Sherlock, kneeling down beside her.

"Is he coming?" she whispered.

"Yes, he is." he answered, assuming she was referring to John.

Just as he said it, John entered the room. He was fully dressed, but his hair was still wet.

"Oh, god. Emma, we've got to take you to the hospital."

"No, no. No hospital." she said, and tried to shake her head in protest, but doing so made her move her body as well, which was unbelievably painful.

"You'll die if –"

"She'll die if you won't do anything!" Sherlock shouted at him.

"Fine. I need a clean towel, tweezers, and a glass of boiled water."

Sherlock nodded and hurried to get the list of things John demanded.

As John noticed the pile of clean towels on the coffee table, he grabbed one and gave it to the woman.

"Put it over the wound and apply pressure."

She did as he said.

There was a loud knock, and John hurried to open it. Mycroft stormed inside.

"Oh, no. How is she?" he asked in deep concern.

"Alive." John wished there were something else he could say, but it was the only thing he could say for sure. But it seemed to please the worried man.

He bent down beside her.

"I told you to take those guards."

She smiled faintly.

"That's the worst last thing to say."

"No, that's not the last thing. You're not going to die. Did you hear me? You're not." he took her hand and put it in his.

He knew John's watching, and he knew that it was the first time he was ever voluntarily this close to anyone, but at the moment he didn't care. All he cared about was to make sure she survives.

Sherlock was back, carried everything John asked him to bring. He glanced at his brother, but decided to remain quiet about his behaviour. Even a sociopath could notice when it's inappropriate to say such things.

"Did you get everything?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Emma, listen to me. There's a bullet inside you, and we have to remove it before we close the wound. Therefore, I'm going to pull it out. Are you ready?"

She looked at Mycroft with fear, but he nodded calmingly.

"Yes." She whispered.

Mycroft stood up and moved away, but didn't let go of her hand.

John dipped the tweezers in the boiled water, and removed the towel from the wound.

"This is going to hurt, but I'm going to do whatever I can to make it as fast as possible." he warned her.

He inserted the tweezers to the wound, and she screamed in pain. She crushed Mycroft's hand, but he squeezed hers back with a comforting look.

John searched for the bullet, and after a moment found it. He got hold of it, and pulled it out slowly. The situation, together with her cries of pain, reminded him a lot of his time in the army.

As the bullet was out, she gasped in relief. The pain didn't stop, but it weakened.

"You did great, Emma." Mycroft said softly.

She smiled a bit. He smiled as well. It felt natural to smile back at her.

"Sherlock, I need a needle and some strings. Do you think we have any of those?"

"I'll ask Mrs. Hudson."

He opened the door and ran downstairs.

"Say something." the injured woman asked Mycroft.

"What should I say?"

"Anything. Distract me."

Mycroft opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything suitable to say. As John noticed his distress, he replaced him.

"Do you know how Sherlock and I met?"

She shook her head.

"Well, I was just back from Afghanistan. I'm am army doctor, you know. So I ran into an old friend of mine, Mike Stamford."

Mycroft looked at her. She seemed fascinated. He wondered if it was because she was genuinely interested, or because she was desperate for a distraction.

"Anyway, we had a little chat, and I said that no one would want me would want me as a flat mate. Apparently, I wasn't the first to say such thing to him that day. He took me with him to introduce me to the other man that thought that way about himself – and it was Sherlock. We entered the room he was in, and moments later he told me everything there is it know about me – he knew I was in Afghanistan, he knew that my limp is psychosomatic, – did I already mention I had a limp? – he knew about my sister. Only he was wrong about one thing."

"What was he wrong about?" she asked quietly. Perhaps she really was interested.

"I thought Harry is a boy. Although this is a confusing name." Sherlock answered as he entered the flat, with a sewing kit in his hand.

"Good, you're back. Bring it over."

John took a needle and a thin string, and started sewing the wound. She breathed out sharply as he started, but her eyes were still on Mycroft's. Surprisingly, he didn't feel uncomfortable with it.


	12. Chapter 12

"Alright, I'm done." the doctor announced after what seemed like an eternity.

Emma closed her eyes.

"No, Emma, open your eyes." Mycroft immediately said, worriedly.

"It's okay. Let her sleep. She needs to rest." the doctor calmed him.

They were all quiet for a while, waiting for her to fall asleep. After they were certain she did, they started talking quietly.

Sherlock and John were sitting on two chairs right next to each other, and Mycroft was kneeling down right beside the woman, stroking her hand slowly.

"What was she doing here?" John asked quietly.

"She said she needs to see you. She wanted to tell you something in private. I shouldn't have let her get out of my sight." Mycroft shook his head in guilt.

"No, it's not your fault. If she didn't go he would have gotten to her in some other way."

Mycroft's eyes remained fixed on her hand. It was covered in blood, and it made his hand dirty as well, but he didn't care.

"You love her, don't you?" asked Sherlock. There was a limit to how much he could hold this question back.

Mycroft didn't answer. He wasn't sure what the answer was himself.

"It's alright if you do. Everyone deserves a goldfish." his brother said softly. And then he added: "Even I do."

Sherlock and John looked lovingly at each other. Neither of them could imagine how they would react if anything like this happened to either one of them.

They kissed each other lightly.

For the first time, Mycroft didn't care they did. His head was occupied with different thoughts.

Could it be? Did he really fall in love with her?


	13. Chapter 13

When Emma opened her eyes, the sun was shining. It seemed that was asleep for about 12 hours.

She straightened up to look around her. The flat was empty. But then, she felt warmth in her hand. She looked down beside her, and she saw Mycroft, his hand still in hers, sleeping with his head on the sofa.

She smiled.

She pulled her hand back, and it woke him up. He opened his eyes tiredly.

"Good morning." she said quietly, and her smile grew bigger. She liked knowing he sat there next to her all night.

He smiled back. It seemed that he always smile when she smiled.

"Good morning. How do you feel?"

"Much better."

She tried to get up, but then moaned in pain and laid back on the sofa.

"You're still not fully healed. You need to stay here and rest. Doctor's orders."

"You can't bribe the doctor to make him do whatever you want him to."

"I didn't bribe him this time. You really do need to rest."

"I like the way you said 'this time'. Very confident."

"Listen to me and there won't be a next time."

"I can't hide forever, you know. Ian – Moriarty – will get to me at some point."

Mycroft sat on the sofa she was on, and leaned forward so his head was only centimeters away from hers.

"I made a promise that I won't let anything hurt you. I intend to keep that promise."

"I believe you." she said wholeheartedly.

Neither of them said anything else, but the man didn't lean back.

"Should I move away?" he asked, really not sure.

"It's up to you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't really move, so you need to choose if you want to move or not."

"Would you want me to move?"

"You don't have to."

He leaned just a bit more forward.

"I –" Mycroft started saying again.

"Oh, god." she murmured impatiently.

She got hold of his tie, and pulled him closer to her.

Their lips met.

Mycroft was surprised by the situation he was in, but more because the way it made him feel. He felt unexpected warmth, his heart was beating fast, his blood was pumping in his veins. It also made him feel utterly exposed. He hated feeling so vulnerable, but somehow that thought didn't even come to his mind.

He pulled back slowly.

Emma was smiling shyly, letting go of his tie. Then, she started laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asked in embarrassment.

"You seem a bit shocked. Is everything alright?" she said with a smile.

As always, he smiled back.

"I didn't expect that."

"The kiss?"

"Everything. I never thought I'll feel that way towards someone, and definitely that anyone would feel that way towards me."

"Why not?"

He chuckled.

"Should I start counting down reasons?"

She didn't laugh along.

"I honestly don't see any. You're brilliant, caring, funny…" she paused when she noticed Mycroft was blushing.

"I got carried away, didn't I?"

"Not at all."


	14. Chapter 14

"Aren't you supposed to be in your office? I mean, not that I want you to leave." she added immediately.

He pondered her question. Of course there was work to be done, there always is. But at the moment, for the first time, it seemed that there's something more important.

"They'll manage without me."

She nodded.

"Well, now I'm bored."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"Tell me something."

"What should I tell you?"

She thought for a second.

"Were Sherlock and John a couple all along? Or did they become one at some point?"

The man laughed. She was the caring one, not him.

It made him consider what he once said to Sherlock, when they were both lonely – caring is not an advantage. Perhaps it actually was, at some points.

Did he just admit he's lonely?

"At first, they were only good friends. Best friends, to be correct. It's not easy to fall in love with a man like my brother, but apparently it's not completely impossible. They were friends, and in fact, John was going out on dates very often, every time with a different woman. He never dated one woman for a long while. And then Sherlock died, and he was left alone. I think it was then when he realized that he had loved him. So when Sherlock was back, it didn't take them long to become official."

"What – _died_? He isn't dead."

Mycroft sighed. He forgot that she doesn't know the story.

"For a long while, Moriarty threatened Sherlock, and slowly destroyed his reputation and his life. I must admit that it was my fault. Anyway, he gave Sherlock two choices before he – clearly didn't – kill himself. Sherlock could either leave' and let John and his other, and almost only, two other friends, or he could kill himself and save them. He chose the second option. He faked his own death so he could save his friends and destroy – unsuccessfully, as it seems – Moriarty's web. After two years, he came back, and let everyone else to know he's alive."

Emma was startled, and Mycroft laughed.

"This is _definitely_ my most interesting visit to England."

Mycroft's phone rang. He meant to ignore it, but as he saw his brother's name on the screen he answered.

"Hello, brother."

"_How is she_?" the doctor asked. Or course he used Sherlock's phone.

"Better."

"_Did she eat anything yet?_"

"Not yet."

"_Give her some food, then. Starving to death isn't any better than dying from a gunshot._" Sherlock interrupted.

"I will. Thank you for your consideration." Mycroft said sarcastically, only he actually meant it.

He hanged up.

"Domineering brother?" she asked.

"Domineering _couple_. Hungry?"

"Starving."

"I'll order something over."


	15. Chapter 15

As the doorbell rang, Mycroft smiled and hurried downstairs. Soon he was back up with a paper bag full of food. He unpacked it on the coffee table, since Emma couldn't go anywhere further.

He opened the first box, that contained her meal, and he handed it over to her. Just as she stretched out her hand to get it, Mycroft pulled it back. He grabbed a fork.

"Oh, come on."

"What if it's poisonous?"

"And then _you'll_ die? That won't solve anything."

"It would mean that you won't."

He took some of her meal on the fork, but just as he opened his mouth, he closed it again. He sniffed it, and then frowned and put the fork back down.

"What's wrong?"

"There're peanuts in it."

"So?"

"I'm allergic to peanuts. That means I can't eat this."

"They're not supposed to be here. I didn't order anything with peanuts in it."

"No, there aren't. They're there in purpose. I'd bet my life that my meal contains peanuts as well, and I literally _will_ bet my life by actually trying to eat it."

"What are we going to do, then?" she asked worriedly.

"Just because my brother can't cook, doesn't mean I can't as well. I just hope they have something to work with in here."


	16. Chapter 16

After 20 minutes and 38 seconds (she was counting), Mycroft finished preparing their lunch.

He prepared pasta, similar to their previous dinner in that flat. Only this time it was actually delicious.

"You should open a restaurant, you know. Once you'll get tired of… doing whatever you're doing, as it seems you're not just occupying a minor job in the government, you should open a restaurant. Hire Sherlock and John as waiters, I'm sure they'll be happy to help. I mean, after you'll bribe them."

Mycroft laughed loudly. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed so freely.

"And what would be _your_ job in my glorious and successful restaurant?" he played along.

Her smile became a bit bitterer.

"I don't think I'll live long enough to have a part of it."

"Emma, listen to me – I won't let anything hurt you. Hurting you would be hurting me, and I never let anyone hurt me."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of – that he'll use me in order to hurt you. Or worse – that he'll use you to hurt me. I can't let that happen."

"And it won't. Trust me."

She smiled a small smile. She trusted him, but it didn't make her feel any better. On the contrary – she was afraid of what he might have to do in order to keep her safe.

Mycroft leaned just a bit forward, clearly still embarrassed and confused. Emma laughed and kissed him. His awkwardness was adorable.

Mycroft started feeling a bit more comfortable about it all. So, just by the books, that was the exact moment that Sherlock and John entered the flat.

It was only when Sherlock gasped melodramatically that they noticed their presence in the room.

They separated immediately, both blushing.

"Is it possible? Is my brother a human being after all?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm not a robot." his older brother answered, annoyed, without looking at him.

"Until proven otherwise."

"Oh, shut up." the older brother said angrily. He was sick of Sherlock teasing him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said – shut up. You're the sociopath one between us. Just because you and John are together _now_, doesn't mean you were together all along. Should I remind you who the previous person you were interested in was? The woman that used you to get the information she needed. So forgive me for not being as friendly as you, but for once in my life, I'm not lonely. Is it so hard for you to accept without remarking anything about it?"

He took a deep breath after he finished talking. He didn't mean to burst out like that. In fact, he wasn't even aware of his own emotions. He got so used to not caring and to ignoring his feelings, he was surprised he let them flow out of him like that.

The rest of the people in the room were even more surprised. Especially his younger brother. Just like his brother, he had no idea that he was feeling that way. To be honest, he had no idea his brother was _feeling_. He always assumed he did, but he didn't have anything to go on. If he'd say that to John, he'd probably be surprised by the tactlessness of his thoughts. 'Of course he has feelings, Sherlock!', he'd say. But he wasn't good with people. Especially not with sentimental ones. All but John, obviously.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said hesitantly. "You're right."

John smiled to himself. He liked hearing Sherlock apologizing. He never apologized before they hooked up.

Mycroft hummed dismissively.

"Told you you were lonely." the little brother mumbled inevitably, with a teasing smile.

John rolled his eyes. Why did he have to be so childish all the time?

Mycroft got up angrily, his hands clenched into fists. Emma grabbed his hand quickly, pulling him back down. Fighting with Sherlock wasn't the solution. It hurt her to stretch out her arm like that, but it was necessary.

Mycroft sat back down reluctantly. He was unable to let go of her hand. Besides, taking care of her was more important than fighting with his brother. He had countless years of being annoyed by his little brother - who knows how long will he have with her?

"It seems it is a bit overcrowded here." the older brother said, looking only at his younger sibling.

"Mycroft..." why was his brother so sensitive?

"Let's go."

He picked Emma up, gently and easily, and they walked out of the room.

"Great, Sherlock. You just annoyed your only sibling." John said tiredly.

"I'm sorry." his boyfriend answered apologetically. He really didn't mean to make him leave.

"I know you are, but you're apologizing to the wrong person."


	17. Chapter 17

As they entered his large office, Mycroft put her down tenderly on the large mahogany-coloured sofa. She smiled in gratitude. As she was now safe, Mycroft sat down heavily on the brown chair next to her.

They both rested quietly next to each other. She stared at him, and after a moment he noticed she did.

"What?"

"Wasn't that a bit melodramatic?"

"_Please_. When Sherlock wanted to tell John he's alive, he pretended to be a French waiter and surprised him in a restaurant. He thought it would be _funny_. I'm not the dramatic one."

She nodded and looked away.

"So how did Sherlock and John hook up? Was it instant?"

Mycroft restrained the need to roll his eyes. She was probably the first person he ever met to be so curious about their relationship.

"They weren't always so close. They were happily friends, and John even constantly had dates, until the day Sherlock died. Obviously he didn't die, but that's what John thought. He saw his body, so you can't blame him. He lived without him for two years, and on the same day Sherlock came back, or the day after that, they hooked up. Didn't take them long. I guess they missed each other."

She seemed fascinated, and Mycroft couldn't restrain himself this time and asked: "Why are you so interested in their love story?"

She chuckled. She frowned for less than a second when her chuckle hurt her stomach.

"Well, as you obviously know, nothing about your family is ordinary. Every single detail about your life is irregular. It's nice knowing that even in such a mad world, there's still hope for a high functioning sociopath and a lonely army doctor to be in love."

She was so utterly naive, but there was something about it that made Mycroft smile. He usually hated people that are so naive, but it suited her, somehow. Everything seemed to suit her.


	18. Chapter 18

She moaned. Mycroft opened his eyes. He didn't even notice he was asleep.

"I'm bored." she exclaimed without waiting for his question.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"You're the one that's not injured."

"So?"

"I don't know. Doesn't it get me some benefits?"

He chuckled tiredly.

"Alright. What you want me to do to keep you from being bored?"

"Say something."

"Why do you think I have anything to say?"

"Tell me about your work, then. After all, it is the reason I came here in the first place."

So he told her. He told her all of the outrageous secrets he must keep. He told her of the dangerous missions. He told her about the time he lived in Serbia, after going undercover to get Sherlock back to London. And just like a child being told a bedtime story, her eyes slowly closed. As Mycroft noticed she was asleep, he let himself to close his eyes as well, and soon fell into a deep sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

When Emma woke up, the room was quiet. Mycroft sat still in the chair, just like he did when she fell asleep. He didn't leave.

She thought of everything Mycroft had told her last night. She was desperate to talk about it, as his words were so surprising and shocking, but she knew she's not allowed to tell those secrets to anyone else.

"Good morning." she said quietly.

Mycroft didn't open his eyes, and she left. Apparently he sleeps heavily. She pushed his arm gently.

His eyes remained closed.

She pushed him again, harder, with a large playful smile on her face.

Mycroft fell down from the chair, his eyes still closed. As he laid still on the floor, she noticed a large wet red stain on his chest. She gasped in terror, and her smile vanished.

She tried to sit, but her stomach hurt her too much. Even though she knew moving a lot might tear her stitches, she didn't give up on getting up of the sofa. She pushed herself down to the floor, and gasped in pain. She crawled to the large body that was still on the floor.

By the time she got to him she was already crying. She put her hand on his cheek, and it was cold. She put her hand on his neck, and she couldn't feel a pulse.

Her cries turned into loud sobs. She put her hand on his pocket, and felt his phone in it. She pulled it out, and called the first number in the contact list.

"_Hello, brother dear._"

"It's… It's me." she spit out her words between her sobs, and even though she spoke unclearly, the detective could understand her words.

"_Emma? What happened?_"

"It's… It's M… Mycroft. He's… He's dead!" she almost-shouted between her wild sobs.

The detective remained quiet.

"_How –_"

She hanged up.

She put the phone on the floor next to her.

The killer must've gotten in at night, when they were both asleep, and killed him. It's her fault. She should have let herself die on the day she got shot. That way he could still be alive.

Her sobs became louder and louder, and she barely managed to breath properly. Her wound hurt her, but not as her heart it. She always thought it's a myth, 'a broken heart'. But it felt very utterly real to her.


	20. Chapter 20

When the couple entered the office, they only needed to take a few steps inside to see the bodies – one dead, one alive. The living woman was lying on the floor next to the dead man, with her head on his chest, next to a large red stain. She was sobbing wildly.

Sherlock's eyes filled with tears. It hurt him to see the way the woman was crying over his brother, but the dead body hurt him much more. He knew it would happen someday, of course he did, and he always assumed it would happen quite early, considering both of their jobs.

But this was _much_ too early. He was finally happy, not lonely. He was _in love_, for god's sake!

He never thought of the day when he'll use the word 'was' when describing his brother.

"Oh, god. Sherlock, are you alright?" the shorter man asked in deep concern.

"What? Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" the taller man lied, and swiped away his tears.

He looked at his brother's body, and there was something strange about it. He frowned.

"Emma, are you alright?" the shorter man kept asking.

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but her sobs were too loud for her to answer.

"Emma, you have to calm down. You'll tear your stitches, and then you'll both be dead. What good is that?"

"At least we'll be together." she said quietly.

The doctor put his arms around her, and tried to lift her up. She was holding Mycroft's hands, and she pulled herself closer to him sturdily. Still, the man was stronger, and she reluctantly let go of Mycroft's hands, and let the doctor carry her and put her back on the sofa.

Sherlock bent down beside the body. There was something strange about it. Something _wrong_.

"Shh. Calm down. It's alright. It's fine. We're here." John said quietly, as he pulled something out of his pockets.

Emma opened her mouth to tell him that it isn't fine, that Mycroft is dead because of her, that he's dead and she's alive and she wishes it was the other way around, but she felt a sudden sharp pain in her neck, and her sobs turned silent as her eyelids closed.


	21. Chapter 21

"I told you we should take that anaesthetic with us." John muttered.

Sherlock leaned forward over the body. The problem was there, staring at his face, but he couldn't see it. He scanned his body, from head to toe, and then he found the problem.

"His hand." he whispered.

"What?"

"His hand." he repeated more loudly.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Mycroft has a small scar on his left hand. I gave it to him. Pushed him through a glass – never mind. But he has a scar."

"So?"

"Where is it? Do you see a scar?" the detective asked urgently, picking up his brother's cold hand and bringing it closer to his partner's face.

"What does it mean?" he really couldn't see a scar, but he didn't understand what's Sherlock's point.

"That's not him. It means that that's not him." Sherlock said with clear relief, and a large smile spread on his face.

"What – so someone faked his death?" John asked, astounded. Thank god Sherlock is so observant!

Sherlock's smile vanished, and a frown took its place.

"Where is he, then?"

He pulled his phone out quickly and called him. It was a long-shot, but it was worth a try. Just as John opened his mouth to say that his brother's phone in on the floor next to them, he noticed the phone isn't ringing.

Surprisingly, someone answered Sherlock's call. He put it on speaker.

"_Thank god, Sherlock – I need your help._" said the voice neither of them thought they'll ever hear again.

Mycroft was breathing heavily, as if he's running.

"Mycroft." Sherlock said with gigantic relief, and put his smile back on. He let out a breath he didn't notice he was holding in.

"_I got into some trouble, you may say. I think they're Russian, which makes sense because I don't speak Russian. But you do, don't you?_" he asked, and the situation was now much clearer to Sherlock – his brother _is_ running, escaping unknown Russian men, probably sent to kill him.

"Well, I think. I haven't spoken Russian for a while and –" Sherlock said unconfidently.

"_I need you to translate these words exactly._"

The detective could hear that he was now on speaker. He was nervous he might translate his words incorrectly, but he knew his memory won't fail him.

"_Instead of chasing me_…"

"Инстеад оф часинг ме…"

"_The tallest one of you…"_

"Тхе таллест оне оф ёу…"

"_Should ask his friend here…"_

"Шоулд аск хис фриэнд хере…"

"_Why is he sleeping with his wife."_

"Почему он спит со своей женой."

It was a poor translation, but it seemed to work. Mycroft breathed out in relief.

"_Thank you. You –_"

There was a sound of a crash, and the call was hung up.

"Mycroft? Mycroft?" the younger brother kept asking worriedly.

He looked at his boyfriend. It seemed that all that was left to do is to wait, unknowing.

Sherlock hated not-knowing.


	22. Chapter 22

After one hour, thirty four minutes and twenty eight seconds, the door opened. Sherlock and John stood up.

Mycroft entered the office. He was limping, his face was badly damaged, he had a black eye, and his arm seemed to bleed.

But he was alive.

Sherlock laughed cheerfully, and hurried to hug his brother tightly.

Mycroft, confused and suffering, hugged him awkwardly back.

Sherlock pulled back from the hug, and held his brother by his arms, smiling jubilantly.

He was happy, yes, but he wasn't _thrilled_. He hated over-emotional people. He wasn't one of them.

How could John not be as thrilled when he found out he's alive?

"Hello, Mycroft." the younger sibling said, with a childish smile spread on his face.

"Sherlock." the older one answered in confusion.

As he noticed his behaviour, he let go of his brother's arms and smoothened his shirt.

"Why is he so happy?" Mycroft asked the doctor quietly.

The doctor opened his mouth to answer, but then Mycroft noticed something lying on the floor. It was hidden behind a chair, so he walked closer to see what was lying there.

As he saw the body, he frowned, and his mouth opened in shock.

"That's… That's me."

"No, it isn't. It isn't you." Sherlock whispered in relief.

"How could you tell?" he looked away from the body to his brother's face. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was him lying on the floor himself.

"The scar on your right hand."

Mycroft glanced shortly at his hand.

"Right. From when you…" his voice trailed away as he thought of those events.

"It wasn't there."

"Of course it wasn't. That's not me. Thank god you were here to tell it wasn't me." the injured man muttered.

His gaze drifted to the sofa. Emma laid still on it, her cheeks damp, and tears on her eyelashes.

He looked back at his brother, both angry and confused.

"We drugged her. We had to. She could hurt herself." the doctor explained instead.

The tallest man walked to the sofa and bent down beside it, breathing out in pain as he put his knees on the floor.

"Go and take a shower. We'll stay here with her."

"I'm fine right here." he answered without turning around to look at them.

"Mycroft, you're injured –"

"It's fine, you can leave."

The couple looked at each other in confusion, but headed towards the door.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

Mycroft turned to him.

"Thank you."

Sherlock's eyes filled with those stupid tears again, so he simply nodded quickly and hurried out before John asks him if he's alright.


	23. Chapter 23

As he had nothing else to do, he counted the seconds it took her to wake up. After 5904 seconds, her eyes flickered.

She opened her eyes. For the first 3 seconds, she was confused. For the next 20 seconds, a huge smile was spread on her face, one that made Mycroft smile as well. But after that, her smile vanished and turned into a worried frown.

"What happened to you?" she asked worriedly.

He shook his head.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I'm alive."

Her smile returned.

"Yes, you are. I thought you were dead."

"It wasn't me. Someone faked my death."

Both of their smiles disappeared. The inevitable question came.

"Someone means Ian – I mean – Moriarty."

"I'm afraid it does."

The next inevitable question came.

"How did he do it?"

"I don't know."


	24. Chapter 24

Mycroft and Emma sat next to each other, wounded, on the sofa. John was sitting on a chair next to them, and Sherlock was sitting, obviously, on Mycroft's chair.

"How's your wounds?"

"They're fine –" they answered simultaneously, and laughed as they noticed it. Laughing had hurt both of them, and as they flinched in pain, they laughed.

"So how did he do it?" Mycroft made himself be serious again.

They were all quiet. Neither of them had an answer.

"I don't think that's the right question to ask." the American woman said after a while.

The men all turned to look at her.

"What is, then?"

"What will he do next? I mean, we're both alive. We've been through hell, but we're alive, and he wants us de –"

"Oh." Sherlock said in recognition.

"What is it?"

"Hell and Silence. That's his plan." the detective murmured.

"What?" John asked in confusion.

"Hell and silence. That's how I call this method of him. He's going to do to you the same thing he did to me back then. He'll make you go through hell, – Richard Brooke, remember? – and he'll make sure you know he's responsible of everything happening to you, but you'll never have any proof it was him. He'll remain silent. And just at the very end, he'll give you a choice – you'll be able to prove it was him and end the misery alive. But in one way or another, he'll make sure you won't. The one time when he won't be silent is the one time you will choose to be silent, forever."

John was shocked, his mouth opened. The woman starting weeping quietly, and the man beside her pulled her closer to her and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, and seemed to calm down a bit as he stroked her hand that was in his.

"So there's nothing we can do but wait?" Mycroft asked with a trembling voice.

"Something is still wrong." his younger brother said in frustrated confusion without answering his question.

The detective got up from his chair and started walking in the room quickly, occasionally kicking something accidently. Then, he froze. He slowly put his hands parallel to his cheeks. His mouth opened into a large oval, with a hidden grin in it.

"Oh!" he said in final comprehension, and a bit of enthusiasm.

John rolled his eyes. He was showing off again.

"What did you understand?" the older brother asked.

"I'm not the only one likes to show off, John. Moriarty does too. Look at the name of his company – I. ? Absolutely transparent. But he knew no one would be clever enough to notice it. No one but me. Mycroft's scar – he knew no one knows my brother well enough to notice it. No one but me. But he never intended of being caught. He never even considered the option that his plan would fail, because if he did he would have made sure somehow that I won't be able to get in his way. But he didn't." the detective spoke in excitement, and as he finished his explanation, he waited for a reaction that never came.

"Don't you see?" he asked in frustration when the crowd was silent.

"We clearly don't. Now, if you don't mind to stop showing off and to start explaining…" his boyfriend said, a bit tiredly.

Sherlock sighed.

"Never mind. I should have known you won't get it." After a long rebuking look from John, he continued. "Moriarty is in America. He didn't bother to come back here, and that was his mistake. You can't see everything from a different country, definitely not from a different continent. There's a flaw in his plan – a large and important one."

Once again, he waited for someone else to express his thoughts. Once again, they all waited for him to continue.

"He doesn't know I'm alive."


	25. Chapter 25

"Let me see if I fully understood your words. You say that Moriarty, the world's most terrible consulting criminal, doesn't know you're alive."

"You're a bit exaggerating, but yes."

"He managed to kidnap me in the middle of the night, take me god-knows-where, fake my death and try to actually kill me, yet he isn't observant enough to know you're alive."

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it. He had to admit, it did sound unbelievable. But it was the only explanation to all of the fact, and therefore, it must be the truth.

"Alright, so he doesn't know you're alive." Emma said. "How does it help us?"

"I… I don't know."

"Oh. So we have nothing, absolutely nothing to go on, other than this unreliable piece of information, that doesn't help us in any way!" she burst in shouts.

All of the men looked at her with shock. She never really yelled at them before.

"Sorry. I get a bit mad when my life is in danger."

"You were fine when you got shot." Sherlock remarked tactlessly.

"I wasn't talking about myself."

As Sherlock squinted his eyes at them in confusion, Mycroft chuckled and kissed her lightly on the cheek. After both their lives were in risk, he took advantage of every single moment they had together.

John sighed as he noticed his boyfriend's confusion. He pulled him down but his scarf and whispered something in his ear.

"What – that doesn't even make sense!" he whispered back, a bit too loudly.

"I did mean it, though. We have nothing to go on." she said after a moment of silence.

The detective's expression changed into a darker, and somewhat apologetic, one.

"Well, as I already said, his plan has two stages – Hell and Silence. The only way we can hurt him is at the most critical part of his plan - Silence. It's the only time he exposes himself. But until then…"

"We have to get through the Hell part defenselessly." his older brother completed as gloomily as his brother.

John stared at the Holmes brothers with shock, and then looked at Emma with sorrow, but her eyes were closed. Soft tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Thank you, Sherlock and John." she said, and her voice broke when she said John's name.

John got up from his chair and grabbed Sherlock's arm.

"Come on. We need to go."

"No, we don't."

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock looked helplessly at his brother, who just nodded coldly. He hated the way they all had that wordless communication. He could read body language better than all of them, but he always missed those kinds of signs that John never ignored.

"Fine." the younger brother muttered childishly and stormed out of the room, leaving John to nod apologetically and follow him quickly.


	26. Chapter 26

"Emma…"

"I just wanted to apologize." her eyes were still closed.

"You have nothing to apologize for." he stroked her cheek and lifted her chin so she had to open her eyes and look at him.

"And since we don't seem to have much time together, I thought this would be a nice chance to do so." she continued as if he didn't answer her.

She took a deep breath.

"I want to apologize about the poison. I tried to kill you, and I didn't even bother to get to know the loving, thoughtful man you are before I did. And if that wasn't worst enough – I didn't leave. I stayed here and let you fall in love with me. I don't deserve your love. But I will cherish it until the day I die, and I thought you should know that. I thought you should…" her voice trailed off as she was weeping too loudly to continue.

Mycroft put his hand behind her head and pulled her closer to him. Her head was on his chest. As Mycroft didn't have any experience with comforting people, especially not people he loves, he just stroked her head quietly and kissed it softly and let her calm herself down.

As she breathed in his scent quietly, she closed her eyes, and Mycroft knew she calmed down completely when he heard quiet deep breathes.


	27. Chapter 27

When Mycroft woke up, Emma's head was still on him. He must've fallen asleep.

Only Emma was awake, and staring at him with her Chesnutt brown eyes.

"How long are you awake?"

"I don't know."

They stared at each other. She smiled, and he smiled back as always.

"Your smile is irresistible, do you know that?"

Her smile grew bigger.

"_You_ are irresistible." she said and kissed him. His smile grew bigger as well to her compliments.

"What happened to make you in such a great mood?" he would have added 'not that I'm not happy you are' if he was talking to anyone else, but with her it felt unnecessary.

"I decided that we'll get through it. If we have to go through Hell to stay together and make it out alive, then we will. But we'll survive. We survived so far – why shouldn't it continue?"

He felt a small need to roll his eyes at her optimism, but it was cute when she did it. Besides, he thought so as well.

"No reason why it shouldn't."

She put her head on his shoulder.

"Well, we should do something to pass the time. You know, until Ian decides it's time to start torturing us."

He wanted to correct her to 'Moriarty', but then he changed his mind. If calling him Ian helps her deal with the situation, then she will. If it made her feel better, she could even call him Margaret.

"Well, it's your turn now. Tell _me_ something. How did you get to know Mor – Ian?"

She squinted her lips, as if she doesn't want to answer.

She answered anyway.

"I don't remember exactly when it was, nor how I met him. I do remember it was related to work. We worked together, and then we didn't meet each other for a while. I ran into him in a restaurant and we were friends ever since."

"Such great friends that you were willing to kill for him?"

She looked away in shame.

"There's something I haven't told you. But you must understand – he genuinely made me believe you're going to kill him!"

"What didn't you tell me?"

She sighed.

"Ian and I… We… We were…" she didn't manage to phrase the sentence.

Mycroft didn't need the rest of the sentence to understand. He got up from his seat with a frown that didn't reflect his thoughts.

"You… And _him_?" he asked in disgust.

"I didn't know who he really was. I truly thought he was a regular decent man. You have to believe me!"

He turned to face her and shook his head, and she could see the betrayal in his eyes.

"No, I… I believe you. I just…" his voice faded away. "Have you kissed him?" he asked quietly, clearly trying to disguise his feelings.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"You have, haven't you?" he asked in desperation. "Oh, god." he put his hand on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft. I really had no idea."

"I need… I need some fresh air."

"Mycroft, _wait_!"

He stormed out of the room, leaving the weeping woman alone behind.


	28. Chapter 28

When there was a knock on the door in 221B Baker Street, the detective was surprised. John had a key, and Mrs. Hudson had no reason to come.

When he opened the door, he was even more surprised. Seeing his brother was not the thing that surprised him, it was the look on his face. He seemed genuinely confused.

He cleared the path to let his brother enter the flat.

"What happened?"

"She… Before she came here, she… She was _dating Moriarty_." he spit the last words with complete disgust.

"Clearly. And?"

Mycroft turned sharply to face his brother.

"_And_?! She _kissed_ him, Sherlock. Emma, _my_ Emma, kissed him!"

"Of course she did. Didn't you realize that when she said that she did it because he asked her to?"

Mycroft's hands clenched into fists. He felt a sudden urge to hit his brother.

"What if you found out that John dated Moriarty?"

"John has nothing to do with this." Sherlock said with a dark expression.

"Oh, he has _everything_ to do with this. In fact, why shouldn't I call him right now, and tell him _you_ secretly dated Moriarty before you faked you own death?"

"He won't believe you." the younger brother chuckled in contempt, but his worry was clear in his voice.

"I'd bet my life that he will."

The two brothers looked at each other, as if they're in the middle of a staring contest.

Sherlock's expression suddenly changed.

"You didn't leave her alone, didn't you?"

Mycroft's expression changed as well.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then Sherlock's phone rang. As he saw his boyfriend's name on the screen, he answered the call quickly.

Mycroft could hear John's voice, as he was speaking loudly.

And his words were: "_Sherlock, it's Emma. She was attacked._"

Mycroft ran out of the flat before his brother even managed to hang up.


	29. Chapter 29

When the Holmes brothers entered the regular office, they found three people. John got up from his chair as they entered. Emma stayed in her seat, her face in her hands.

A third unknown person was unconscious on the floor.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked in shock. He didn't expect a third person.

"Well, this man here tried to attack her. She called me when she heard steps in the hallway, and by the time I got here this man was unconscious on the floor." John explained with the slightest of grins.

"Why didn't you call me?" Mycroft asked softly.

She raised her head, Mycroft could see her lips was bleeding, and several bruises on her face.

"I assumed that since you left, you didn't want me to involve you into all of this."

"What? No, Emma, of course not." he hurried to her and kneeled in front of her. "I didn't leave _you_, I just needed to talk to Sherlock. I still love you."

He smiled faintly at her, waiting for her to smile back. Her smile was even fainter than his, but it was enough.

"I thought you hated me for kissing him."

"No, of course not. I don't get to judge over the people you dated before I met you. Imagine Sherlock would have judged John for all of the women he dated _after_ they met."

John smiled to himself.

"Thank you for not judging me." he said quietly to his boyfriend.

"You really should thank me, though. I had a lot to judge you about." his boyfriend murmured back.

John chuckled.

"I mean it. 24 women. That's a lot."

"Alright, Sherlock. I got it. Thank you."

"And considering you're gay I can count each woman twice. That increases the number to 48."

"Oh, shut up." John murmured and kissed him.

When they separated, they noticed Mycroft and Emma were looking at them. Sherlock blushed and looked away, and John laughed.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" he asked teasingly.

"You were noisy." Mycroft answered and looked at them slightly disgusted.

"Sorry." he mumbled back, holding back his laughter.

He grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him out.

Emma started laughing after they left, and Mycroft joined her laughter.

"Can I give you an advice?"

He nodded.

"If you don't trust your girlfriend, break up with her."

He smiled. Of course he trusted her. He shouldn't have let Moriarty play with him like that.

"How is it possible that no one who works here came to see what happened? I mean, don't they notice the chaos in this building?"

"As you have probably already managed to understand, my work is rather irregular, and such are my co-workers. We're not allowed to talk to anyone here but very specific people. Imagine what would happen if in our conversations, someone revealed confidential information unintentionally."

She nodded quietly. It all made perfect sense, but it made her miss the friendly environment she had in America.

"So how did you knock out that man?"

She looked away shyly.

"I hit his head with a dictionary."

Mycroft laughed loudly.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I've just never seen anyone that uses a _dictionary_ as a weapon."

She laughed along.

The man on the floor moved a bit, and Mycroft instantly stood up in front of her protectively. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number quickly, and then hanged up immediately. In less than ten seconds, Anthea entered the room.

"Take care of that, please." he said without detailing.

She nodded.

He wrapped his arm around his girlfriend and escorted her out of the room.


	30. Chapter 30

She put her head on his shoulder during the ride. This time she agreed to get a cab.

"What are they going to do to him?"

He didn't answer. She assumed it would be better if she didn't know.

"Alright. Where are we heading to?" she changed the subject.

"Baker Street."

"Did you tell them we're coming?"

"No. Why should I?"

She straightened up and stared at him in disbelief.

"What?"

"What if they're not at home? What if they're busy? What if someone is already there?"

"It's Sherlock. What could he possibly be doing?"

"You keep forgetting his not alone there. John's there too."

"So?"

"_So_?"

She stared at him.

"Oh."

"Yes."

"I should call them."

"I believe you should."

He called his brother. After 15 seconds, he answered.

"_What_?" he said angrily.

"Emma and I are on our way to your flat. Thought you should know."

"_You're where? Oh, god._" he muttered. "_And you didn't think of letting us know earlier?_"

Mycroft hanged up.

"Well?" she asked.

He looked at her with a disgusted look. She laughed loudly, and he joined her laughter.


	31. Chapter 31

Sherlock opened the door only after they knocked twice. His hair was messy and his shirt was wrinkled, and Mycroft tried really hard not to think about it as he entered.

"Hello, brother."

"Always a pleasure to have you here." the younger sibling muttered.

John entered the room, tucking his shirt into his pants. Emma tried not to laugh.

"Hello, John." Mycroft said calmly.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"We need a plan. Moriarty is not going to stop until one of us dies –"

"And the more the merrier –" she interrupted.

"Yes. Anyway, you seem certain that he thinks you're still dead. We need to find a way to use this information against him."

Sherlock sighed.

"Alright. Have a seat."

They obeyed.

"Well, we know he thinks I'm dead. That means I can act without being afraid I'm being watched. He probably got people to watch all of you, but no one to watch me. But _how_ does it help us?" the detective wandered around the room while thinking out loud.

"Maybe we can invite him over, and when he comes here, since he won't be expecting you, you can surprise him and kill him."

Mycroft smiled to himself at her optimism, which he thought was sweet, unlike his brother, who rolled his eyes.

"He's too smart for that. He'll expect a trap."

"But it's great that you're suggesting ideas." the doctor added quickly.

They were all quiet again.

"How about –"

"Shut up, I'm trying to think." the detective interrupted in anger and scorn.

"Well, excuse me for trying not to die."

"And what do you think _I'm_ trying to do, exactly? Do you think I like thinking that my brother is very likely to die before the month ends? Don't forget that I've already been in a situation like this, and I found a solution all by…" his voice faded away, and his open mouth opened just a bit more to let in a deep breath. His irritated expression was replaced with wide opened eyes and a small whisper: "Oh."

John hoped he won't start showing off. Every time he had that expression it was a sign that something was understood.

"What is it, Sherlock?" the doctor asked.

"Thank you, Emma, for being an idiot. It reminded me of when I was in the same situation. I know how I can help."

"Don't call her an idiot." Mycroft said coldly.

"How can you help, then?" the woman ignored the nickname she was just given.

"If we'll see there's no other option, that his next move is to kill you… I'll fake your deaths."

Their mouths opened in shock. Nonetheless, Sherlock continued detailing.

"Probably a car crash. I'll take care of the bodies and everything. We'll tell everybody that you were drunk and you got in the car anyway and then you ran into a pole or something." He explained his plan, ignoring their faces.

The tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she thought of how often she cried lately. Not that it mattered at the moment.

"Alright, Sherlock, I think that's enough." John said softly.

"What? I'm trying to help."

"And you are. But pretending to be dead isn't easy for everyone."

"I need fresh air." Emma said suddenly and stood up. She hurried towards the door.

Mycroft got up quickly. He nodded apologetically to john, and left the flat.


	32. Chapter 32

She was standing with her back to the wall, crying silently. The wind ruffled her hair.

"It'll be alright." Mycroft said awkwardly. He hated watching her cry, but he was so helpless when it came to comfort people.

"What will I tell my brother? 'Hello, brother. Remember Ian, my former boyfriend? Well, now he's trying to kill me so I faked my death.' He's not like Sherlock. He won't understand. I'm not even sure _I _understand."

Mycroft breathed out heavily.

"I know it's hard. It's hard for me, too. I had one rule – to not get involved. I stayed above it all, never getting attached. And then you came, and in less than a month I found myself in a situation I've never thought I'd be in."

"In life danger?" she asked bitterly.

"In love."

She half smiled to him bitterly. Even when she cried he thought she was beautiful.

"Come on, let's go. We need to distract ourselves from it somehow."

He wrapped his arm around her to protect her from the wind, and they started walking towards his room, now their room.


	33. Chapter 33

She sat down heavily on the sofa when they entered the office, which started to feel more and more like a prison.

She knew she shouldn't feel like this. After all, she was just told that she might make it out alive. But it felt as if they were planning her death.

"I need a distraction." she didn't look at him, but she simply stared at the air in front of her.

"What can I do?"

"Get me something to drink. Anything. And bring two glasses."

Mycroft nodded worriedly and hurried out of the room. He was back in seconds, with a bottle she couldn't recognize and two glasses.

He put them gently on the table. She got up from her seat and moved to his large black chair. She opened the bottle and filled the glasses, then handed one to Mycroft.

"One of us should remain sober."

"Not tonight."

He looked at her quietly.

"Alright, so that's how it works. Each one of us says something he has never done, and if the other has done it, he empties his glass."

"And what is the point of this game, exactly?"

"Pass the time. Besides, getting to know each other better can't hurt."

Mycroft sighed and grabbed his glass.

"You start."

"Alright. Uh, I've never hit anyone with a dictionary."

She rolled her eyes.

"That doesn't count."

"Of course it does."

"Come on, I've just told you I did that. You can't use it."

"Well, I've never done it."

She sighed and emptied her glass.

"Alright, my turn." she said as she refilled her glass. "I've never shot anyone."

Mycroft looked away as she refilled his glass.

"I've never kissed anyone before you."

She emptied her glass, and Mycroft looked away, trying not to show her the nausea he was feeling.

"I've never killed anyone."

He emptied his glass in silence. The alcohol was starting to influence.

"I've never slept with anyone."

She emptied her glass, and this time Mycroft didn't hide the disgust he was feeling.

"Not him." she calmed him.

"Not him." he repeated, trying to calm himself as well.

He knew there's a chance that she's lying, but he decided to believe her. Mostly because it was too hard for him to think of the consequences of such a lie.

"I've never been to anywhere in the world accept for America and England."

"Really?" he asked in surprise.

She nodded, and he giggled.

The alcohol was definitely affecting him.

"Once we get out of this mess, I'm taking you wherever you want. Anywhere in the world. Just name it."

She smiled like a child receiving a present.

"I've never got really drunk."

She laughed.

"Cheers to that." she said as she drank.

Emma leaned forward towards Mycroft over the table.

"I've never planned anyone's death."

"Now you're just trying to get me drunk."

She smiled a wide smile, and Mycroft smiled back.

"You always smile when I smile."

"Your smile is irresistible."

She kissed him.

The soft kiss turned into hard, passionate ones. She climbed over the table to get closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. As she unbuttoned his shirt, a thought passed through his mind. _I hope all of this alcohol won't get me into doing something stupid._


	34. Chapter 34

When Emma Carlton woke up, the first thing she noticed was an awful headache.

The second thing she noticed was that she was lying on Mycroft, that didn't wear his shirt.

The third thing she noticed was that she wasn't either.

She got up from Mycroft, trying not to wake him. She straightened up slowly, trying to avoid dizziness. She dressed up slowly.

Just as she finished dressing up, Mycroft's phone rang. He opened his eyes into a small crack, clearly experiencing his first hangover. He looked around a bit, and as he realized what was happening, he fully opened his eyes and got up into sitting quickly. He seemed too shocked to feel dizzy.

She picked up his clothes and threw them over to him, as he was paralyzed on the sofa. He shook his head violently to wake himself up, an action he clearly regretted as it made his head spin. He dressed up quickly, his look still unfocused.

Meanwhile, she answered his phone.

"Hello?"

"_Mycroft?_"

"It's Emma. Anything urgent?"

"_Just wanted to make sure everything's alright_."

"It is. Anything else?" she asked impatiently and a bit rudely.

"_I…_"

"_Oh, hang up already. They drank too much last night to listen to your concern right now. Tell Mycroft we'll call you later._" the detective interrupted.

"_How do you – never mind._" the doctor sighed and hanged up.

She turned back to look at Mycroft, who sat frozen on the sofa just like before, only now dressed.

"What happened last night?"

"You're the one with the detective brother. Make a deduction."

He blinked a couple of times, and his mouth was opened as if he wanted to say something, but he said nothing.

"Why are you so startled?"

"_Why_? Because –" he took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Because less than a month ago, I was an utterly lonely man working for the British government. Now, I have a girlfriend that I'm terribly in love with, and I just woke up with a hangover without any clothes on. So if you don't mind, I need to make up my mind for a moment."

"Make up your mind? What is there to make up your mind about?"

"I – I don't know. I just need to _think_ about it for a moment. Just _think_."

"And by 'think' you mean 'alone'."

"No, that's not what I meant –"

"It's fine. You need some time to yourself." she said with a seemingly calm tone, but then rushed out of the room as if she was furious.

Mycroft moaned and hurried out after her. He'll think later.

When he opened the door, she was about to cross the road. He was temporarily blinded by the sunlight, and as he managed to open his eyes, she was already in the middle of the road.

She wasn't angry. She doesn't have a reason to be angry. He needs to think, that makes sense. But her mind was still unclear from last nights' occurrences, so she wasn't behaving logically.

She only noticed the yellow car when it was a meter away.

She closed her eyes in fear, expecting a hit. It came, but it didn't hurt. It didn't feel like she expected. She felt herself falling with her face down, but she didn't hit the floor when she landed. She fell on something softer, warmer.

She opened her eyes, and a familiar smile was there, in front of her. A naive, innocent small smile that she would never forget.

Only she didn't expect to see it.

"Ian." Emma whispered, startled.

He smiled sheepishly.

"Did you miss me?"

Emma Carlton stared at the man who had just saved her life, but was also threatening it at the same time.

"What are you doing here?"

"Saving your life."

"I thought you wanted to kill me."

"I do. But I want to choose the way it happens."

He let go of his hold, and she immediately got up. She was still stunned by his presence. The words were not his, but everything else – his look, his smile, his tone – it all belonged to Ian Thompson. She had expected him to look different, dress up differently, talk differently, but he didn't.

She didn't forget who she was talking to, but she was too overwhelmed by his presence to react in any way.


	35. Chapter 35

Mycroft let out a breath he didn't notice he was holding in when a man more sober than him jumped on Emma and saved her from certain death. He started worrying when she didn't instantly get up. As soon as he saw the man's face, he rushed to the other side of the road.

"Oh, look – another guest is here for the party!"

Mycroft's hands clenched into fists as he heard the man in front of him speaking, the man who was supposed to be dead.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, forcing himself to remain calm.

"Just dropped by to say hello." Moriarty answered innocently.

Before anyone managed to react, he walked to Emma, held her hand and kissed her. Then, he turned to Mycroft and winked.

The woman stood there frozen, her eyes wide open in surprise, as the man fought his desire to go after the man and kill him.

After a moment, Mycroft's look drifted over to Emma, still paralyzed.

"Are you alright?"

She shook her head quickly, trying to shake the last minute's thoughts off it.

She looked at her hand, the one Moriarty held. She opened it, and then closed it back again quickly.

"Let's just go back inside." she murmured, as she headed back to the building, and the man followed.


	36. Chapter 36

"What is it, Emma?" Mycroft asked as soon as he shut the door behind them.

"He left a note in my hand."

She pulled a small piece of torn paper out of her pocket, and handed it over to Mycroft.

"_I have answers to your questions. Come if you want_. There's an address…" his voice faded away as he looked at her expression. Why didn't she look horrified by the idea of going there?

"I want to go see him."

"Unfortunately, you won't."

"Why not?" she walked closer to him and grabbed his hand in hers. "He's here. That means we passed the Hell. We've been through Hell and we survived, and now he's here. He's exposed, and I really do have questions to ask him. It's not too late to ask Sherlock to fake our death, there's still a way out. So why not go?"

"It's dangerous!"

"Of course it is! But if he wanted me dead, he would have let that car hit me, right?"

Mycroft breathed out heavily. She was so naive, trying too hard to believe that a man named Ian Thompson actually exists.

"You don't know him. He wants to choose the exact way you'll die. He wants to choose your last words, your last acts. To him, we're all tools in his vast chess game, and he's the king."

"No, _you_ don't know him. I refuse to believe there isn't a part of him that is Ian Thompson. We were friends for such a long time, you can't fake things like that."

"That's exactly what he wants you to think! Don't you see? It's a trap!"

She looked at him profoundly.

He sighed. She had made him soft.

"Fine. Go if you want."

She half smiled and kissed him. She left without turning back.

Only after she closed the door behind her and walked away from the room, she let herself open the second note, the one she couldn't show him, and read it again.

_If you won't come, I will come to you and kill you right in front of him._

_If you'll show him this note, I'll come._

_If you'll tell anyone, I'll come._

_Miss you already,_

_Jim Moriarty xx_

She swallowed her tears as she left the building.


	37. Chapter 37

The address led her to an old abandoned building. She took a deep breath and pushed the heavy door in order to enter. She wandered around the building for a while, trying to find the right place. It was grey, everything about it was grey – the walls, the ceiling, the floor – and it felt like the worse place to die. Not that there was a good place to die.

She entered the right room at last. Three men waited there for her. Two strangers carrying guns, and the man she came here to save.

"Mycroft." she whispered in astonishment and pain, as she realized his suspicions were correct. This was a trap indeed.

Mycroft Holmes's look changed when she said his name. From a stern, immune look, to a softer one. His eyes reflected his feelings, like they always did when they were together. Only now she recognized how different was Mycroft's behaviour to other people from his behaviour towards her.

"He isn't supposed to be here. You said, that if I come here, you won't." she hissed.

"Oh, honey," said the man she used to love, "I've never said that. You see, I said that if you _don't_ come, I will. I never said what'll happen if you do."

He smiled smugly at her agitated expression. Oh, she was so utterly ordinary. But as much as he hated ordinary people, playing with their lives was always fun. Playing with _extraordinary_ people – that was the best game there is.

He turned to the extraordinary man in the room, which now looked completely ordinary. Yes, he had found his weak spot. His original plan was to use his job to destroy him, but this was _much_ better.

"Do you want to go to her?" he asked teasingly, and the man glared at him. Nonetheless, the answer to his question was clearly a 'yes'. "Go ahead, then. Go to her."

Mycroft's furious gaze drifted to the woman standing in front of him, further than he'd like her to. He paced slowly towards her, trying to be as careful as possible.

After he managed to make only four steps towards her, the men that were standing behind him moved quickly and placed themselves behind her instead. The message was clear – _I'm not threatening your life, I'm threatening hers_. Emma's expression changed as she realized it as well. Mycroft froze, afraid that if he'll move, they'll hurt her.

Ian Thompson laughed loudly, obviously enjoying the situation.

"Oh, this is marvelous! The great Mycroft Holmes, the _iceman_, has truly fallen for a woman!" he laughed again.

"It's a shame, Mr. Holmes. I thought you were slightly different. Turns out I was wrong. You are _just_ like everybody else." he spoke as he walked closer and closer to the paralyzed man. "_Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side._ Oh, I _do_ miss your little brother. You see, _he_ was different. But in the end, sentiment was what killed him. You two are much more alike than you think, Mr. Holmes. You both pretend to be strong and cold-blooded. You both think people are pests, except for one special pet you keep next to you to keep you entertained. But then, people get so sentimental about their pets."

He was centimeters away from Mycroft's face now, and he could feel his breathes on his skin as he spoke.

"Let her go. This is between you and me. Let her leave and I'll do whatever you ask me to do." Mycroft said quietly, trying his best not to sound helpless.

"You'll do whatever I ask you to _right now_!" he exclaimed happily.

Without any warning, he slapped Mycroft. His hands clenched into fists, but he remained frozen. He couldn't compromise Emma's safety. He heard her gasp as the sound of the hit echoed in the room, but she didn't move as well. Moriarty laughed cheerily.

"Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft Holmes. I thought you knew it. Sherlock would be _very_ disappointed. But don't worry, you'll see him soon."

His eyes were focused on Jim's, and for the first time he felt the consequences of his feelings. He was such a fool, to fall in love. And from all girls, he chose the most complicated and perhaps dangerous one. He was such an idiot.

But as his eyes moved to meet Emma's over Moriarty's shoulder, he couldn't be less sorry for his stupidity. When he looked at her, he didn't regret his actions. He didn't regret getting closer to her, he didn't regret falling in love with her, and he most certainly didn't regret sleeping with her. The only thing he regretted was that their time together, their little paradise, had to be so short. Whatever happens, they won't walk out of this room together. His rivalry with Moriarty won't allow him to let them walk out of here safe and sound.

_"I love you_." she said voicelessly.

Mycroft knew that love is chemical, that it is caused by hormones secreted from his brain, but it was his heart that started beating faster as she said those words, and his heart that hurt as he realized the first time she said those words might also be the last.

He knew that Moriarty is still there, watching, testing him. But at the moment, he couldn't care less.

"_I love you too_." he answered voicelessly back.

Moriarty put his hand on his chest and gasped theatrically, pretending to be touched, as if Mycroft was talking to him. Then, he turned and looked at Emma, who was weeping silently, and sulked sarcastically.

"And I thought you said you loved me." he said as if he was about to cry, but then he turn serious again. "Alright, I'm tired of playing games. It's not fun to play against someone who doesn't even try to win."

He walked away from Mycroft, and disappeared from his field of vision. Nonetheless, his gaze didn't move from Emma. He knew it was already too late to fight – so the least he could do was to use every single moment they had together. Emma did the same.

Suddenly, she breathed in sharply, clearly frightened. He heard Moriarty walking back to him.

"I've brought you a present." he whispered in the helpless man's ear.

Mycroft reluctantly looked at him. His hand, that was now held in front of him, held a gun. But of course it wasn't any gun. It was his personal gun, the one he kept in his office, in case he'll ever need it.

"Although shooting you is very tempting, I suppose that wasn't your purpose." he muttered.

Jim laughed humourlessly.

"No, this gun isn't for me."

"If you want me to kill myself, you should ask one of your little minions to shoot me, because I won't do it."

Moriarty remained silent and simply looked at him meaningfully.

As he realized, his eyes widened with true fear and terror.

"No. Never." he said coldly, trying to remain as calm as possible, even though he knew it was too late to make a tough impression.

"What's going on?" the woman with the partly American accent asked worriedly, as she failed to understand the situation.

"You see, darling, your lovely boyfriend is going to kill you in a few moments!" the consulting criminal exclaimed joyfully.

"What's the alternative?"

"Well, if you'll refuse to kill her, I'll take care of it." the consulting criminal said with a malicious smile. The meaning was clear – a very slow and painful death.

"Give me the gun." Mycroft's voice broke, and Jim Moriarty's smile grew even bigger.

"No, don't do this. Mycroft, please don't." she cried. Not because she was afraid of dying, she had accepted that fact a long time ago. The only thing she feared was what killing her would do to Mycroft.

"I can't let him torture you." he answered, as emotionlessly as he could, given the blizzard of thoughts that was going on in his head. A rain of pain washed away every hope, winds of fear blew away every courage he had left, and snow of loss covered every happiness.

"I'd rather suffer than make you suffer." she begged once more, hoping he would change his mind. She didn't fear the pain she would feel. She'd do anything to keep him as safe and as happy as possible. Why did it take her so long to realize that?

Mycroft cocked the pistol slowly.

"What happens if my shot doesn't kill her?" he asked without removing his gaze from the pistol.

"Then I will."

Mycroft nodded heavily. There was nothing else to do. He had let Jim Moriarty have an advantage over him, he had developed a pressure point.

He pointed the gun at her, trying to think as objectively as possible. As he saw her sobs, he felt a large aching lump in his throat.

"I love you." he said, this time aloud. He needed to say it one more time, before he won't be able to say it anymore.

"I love you too." she wanted to protest, to try and convince him not to do it, not to contaminate his conscience, but she didn't. She wanted this to be her last words to him. Her last words to the world.

A shot was fired.

Emma Carlton fell immediately down to the floor, lying still on it.

A single wound in her forehead was the only evidence to her death, except for her wide open eyes, that were now cold and vacant.

Mycroft Holmes dropped the gun on the floor. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to be there instead of her. To save her. To see her smile again, to hear her voice, her laughter. To feel her soft lips on his, her warm breath on his cheek. He wanted so much more. So much more that he could never have.

"Well, it's been a pleasure, but I've got to go now." Jim Moriarty called as he and his men walked towards the exit.

Everything was quiet, all but their footsteps.

They left the room.

As Mycroft finally let a single tear run down his cheek, and another one right after it, he heard Moriarty's voice.

"Tell your brother I expect to see him at the funeral."

Mycroft Holmes, the iceman, fell on his knees and started sobbing.


End file.
